


Play It By Trust

by screamingsongbird16



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Chess!, Friendly Rivalry, Gen, aLIvE-verse compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingsongbird16/pseuds/screamingsongbird16
Summary: Spies are meant to be rivals, not friends.  This should be doubly true for Kaminaga and Miyoshi, who know that one of them will be taking over D-Agency once Yuuki retires.  Yet somehow they both just know.  Neither will let the other one down.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tivanny](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tivanny).



Notes: This fic is aLIvE-verse compliant.  Meaning that it’s set in the same universe as my other fic, aLIvE, which is a #Miyoshi Lives fic. 

 

* * *

 

 

            When it came to entertainment at D-Agency, strategy games were their bread and butter.  Spies needed sharp, astute minds.  And like any muscle, the mind only developed when it was trained and pushed.  So it made a certain amount of sense that all the men who made it through all the rigorous spy testing were already proficient at multiple strategy games. 

            It was extremely difficult to say who was the best at any one game.  There was always another candidate for that title who could give the other a run for his money.  Sometimes literally when the game involved gambling.  Most of them went into spy training with a several-year-long undefeated streak at their game of choice.  All of those records got smashed before they were narrowed down to the final eight, either because they ended up playing against their future peers, or else because some of the students who eventually got cut were, in fact, masters of those particular games as well.  After all, even the students who hadn’t proven worthy to join their ranks in the end hadn’t ended up at training just by chance. 

            The final eight all had their own specialties.  For example, when it came to straight up poker, no signaling or cheating involved, Fukumoto, with his impenetrable poker face and unnerving luck reigned supreme in his pre-D-Agency days.  Some went in, thinking that they were a shoe in for being named the best in their game of choice.  But soon learned that that they had only believed they were the best because they had never faced a challenge like one of the others could present before.  They learned to adapt and up their game since, essentially, they had hit a wall before, and just not known it.  Playing against someone better than you is how you improve, after all.  The ones too rigid to accept that they weren’t the best anymore didn’t really belong there.  And then there were some who had never played a couple of those particular games before.  But every man there was a fast learner.  They picked up the basics quickly enough.  Honing their skills took time, but determination and stubbornness was something that they all possessed in ample quantities.

            After poker (which eventually evolved into their Joker Game), chess was probably the most popular game amongst the D-Agency boys.  It was convenient because it only took two people to play it.  And it had its own allure, being the world’s best known strategy game. 

            None of the others were really surprised that the two best chess players amongst them turned out to be Miyoshi and Kaminaga.  In order to lead your peers in D-Agency, you had to have a top notch mind when it came to strategy.  Otherwise, none of the others, who were all very good at thinking for themselves, would have followed them.  They had no intention of following anyone who couldn’t plan ahead better than they themselves could.

            Watching Miyoshi and Kaminaga play became something of a favored pastime.  One that started before the final cuts were made, and continued long after they moved into the Greater East Asia Cultural Society.  Because Miyoshi and Kaminaga’s chess games were long, and they were intense.  And they were also quite telling about what kind of man each of them was.

            Miyoshi was a more aggressive player.  More willing to make sacrifices for greater gains.  Kaminaga was more defensive and cautious, preferring to keep as many of his pieces safe as he could, so that he could keep as many options open as he could.  Though, that said, Miyoshi never carelessly threw any piece away, and was much more loathe to sacrifice his better pieces than his pawns.  And there were times when Kaminaga made surprisingly aggressive moves, that caught everyone, even Miyoshi off guard.  Despite their different styles and natures, both were about evenly matched.  Neither ever gained a decisive lead against the other, in their running count of wins to losses.  And draws between the two weren’t quite common place, but neither were they rare.  But despite the intensity of the matches, as well as the knowledge that those chess games had become about more than strictly just chess . . . there was no animosity between Miyoshi and Kaminaga.  There were playful insults and ribbing, yes, and their competitive streaks were both very real.  But there was genuine respect between the two men.  An unspoken agreement that they both held the other in high enough regard that, if it came down to it, either one of them would follow the other, if the other had reason to take charge of a situation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Running with a bullet in your leg was ill advised.  But Kaminaga had been given reason to do just that.  The reason?  So that he wouldn’t catch another bullet anywhere else in his body.  His mission had gone sideways.  His contact sold him out.  That was the most logical explanation for what had happened that Kaminaga could think of.  That short, red-faced glasses man being so jumpy at their meeting lent credence to that theory.  In hindsight, he should have known something was wrong then.  He should have been on better guard.

            It was only his excellent physical health that enabled him to get away, out of the warehouse district, and into the inner city.  But Kaminaga’s stamina wouldn’t hold out forever.  Not when every step he took sent pain up his entire leg and side.  And it wouldn’t be long before his makeshift bandage soaked through.  Then he’d start leaving a blood trail.  And/Or someone would notice him bleeding and make a big deal about it, and he’d be busted anyway.  But Kaminaga hadn’t run any old way, at a whim.  He’d had a particular destination in mind when he plotted his course.  Or at least he came up with one after getting out of bullet range.  D-Agency had several safe houses scattered around Tokyo.  And others scattered throughout Japan, especially in their major cities, but those didn’t matter to Kaminaga now.  He’d limped his way through alleys, keeping to the shadows, to get to the closest Tokyo safe house.  Now he was almost there. 

            When a silhouette detached itself from the darkness of the alleyway, at first Kaminaga thought that he was about to be mugged.  Or at least that someone was going to attempt to mug him.  Even injured, Kaminaga wasn’t as easy a target as one might think, and he was far from helpless.  He tensed as the figure suddenly darted toward him, and started to shift to a position he could fight from, then recognition hit him like a ton of bricks.  And when the figure reached him, instead of attacking him, the man wrapped an arm around his waist, slinging Kaminaga’s own arm around his shoulders so he could help support his weight.

            Miyoshi?

            Yes.  There was no mistaking him this close. 

            “You’re not even going to ask if I was followed?” asked Kaminaga softly.

            “Of course you weren’t followed,” said Miyoshi.  “Who do you think I think you are?”

            Kaminaga almost laughed.  He really wanted to.  But he was so drained, and it would hurt. 

            “More than that, who do you think I am?” asked Miyoshi.  “Do you think I’d be so careless as to not have assurances?”

            “You’re not here alone?”

            Miyoshi raised one finger, pointing skyward.  Kaminaga didn’t bother glancing up at the roofline.  He knew he wouldn’t see whoever Miyoshi had with him.  Their eye in the sky wouldn’t be that careless.  It would just be a waste of energy.

            “How’d you know?” asked Kaminaga, as Miyoshi continued half carrying him.

            “We heard about shots fired in the warehouse district on a police radio.  When you didn’t come home on time . . .” Miyoshi let him infer the rest on his own.

            “Since when do we have a police radio?” asked Kaminaga.  Radios were expensive and D-Agency’s budget was strained at the seams from necessities already.

            “Since a police officer lost his radio and shirt to Fukumoto in a card game.  Earlier tonight.”

            “Ah.”  That would do it. 

            The safe house was an abandoned traditional medicine shop, with no main street access.  It’s storefront had once opened onto the alley.  On the outside it still looked decrepit and rundown.  But inside was much nicer.  Sparse, but clean.  Spartan, really.  And stocked with modern medical essentials.  Miyoshi leaned Kaminaga against the brick wall of the building as he unlocked the door, after removing the key from inside the hidden cache in the door’s built-in sign.  Then he turned back toward Kaminaga and bent down slightly, moving slowly and carefully, so Kaminaga would know exactly what he was doing.  It was a little embarrassing, but Kaminaga wasn’t going to fight it.  He wrapped his arm back around Miyoshi’s shoulders as Miyoshi lifted him bridal style, taking all his weight off his injured leg, and carried him inside. 

            Inside was completely dark.  But it was set up the way all D-Agency safe houses were.  With a large, broad, rectangular table directly in front of the door.  Miyoshi walked toward it blindly, slowing when he knew he was near, then feeling around for one of its legs with his foot.  He deposited Kaminaga on top of it after finding it, then went back to lock the door and turn on the light.

            Kaminaga winced against the sudden brightness.  But it did feel nice to just lay down and close his eyes.

            “You’re very pale.  How much blood have you lost?” asked Miyoshi.

            “Well I didn’t exactly measure it out,” groused Kaminaga.

            “I was asking for an estimate.”

            Kaminaga heard Miyoshi bustling around the room, retrieving the medkit, amongst other things.  And he felt a little bad for lashing out.  Miyoshi was helping him, not being critical.

            “Not too much.  Only what’s on the bandage, plus a few splashes from before I got that bandage on,” said Kaminaga. 

            “It hurts badly then?” asked Miyoshi, figuring out this was the reason for Kaminaga’s pallor.

            “The bullet’s still inside,” said Kaminaga, in answer.

            He laid still while Miyoshi used a pair of sharp scissors to cut off the leg of his pants, then inspected the wound.  From the amount of time Miyoshi took in his inspection, Kaminaga knew that his conclusions weren’t good.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “The bullet is very near an artery.  Or so I believe,” said Miyoshi.  None of them were doctors.  But their knowledge of anatomy was on par with a doctor’s.  And they were very familiar with where all the lethal-if-severed veins and arteries were in the human body.  If Miyoshi believed it was near an artery, then it was.

            “Well, be careful when you take it out,” said Kaminaga.

            “I believe it is _very_ close to an artery,” said Miyoshi.  “As in, it may actually be pressed right up against the artery.  Possibly even stuck to it, since bullets are so hot when they’re fired, they can fuse to tissue.”

            “So be very careful,” advised Kaminaga.

            “I believe you should see an actual surgeon,” said Miyoshi.

            Kaminaga stared at him.

            “Don’t look at me like that.”

            “Like what?  Like I’m ticked off that you want to leave the bullet in me longer than necessary?” demanded Kaminaga.  “Or that you’re suggesting something that could risk my identity?”

            Miyoshi frowned at him.  There was a slight smolder to his eyes, but otherwise he remained calm.  “Do you think I like admitting to my own inadequacy, Kaminaga?”

            “You have the steadiest hands in D-Agency,” said Kaminaga.  “When it came to this kind of thing in training, you were the very best.”

            “Which is why you should trust me when I tell you, the chances of me making a mistake and killing you are too high!” snapped Miyoshi, suddenly losing his cool.

            Kaminaga blinked, slightly taken aback.  “Miyoshi –”

            “I trust my own judgment even if you don’t.  And I am telling you, as the person who knows my capabilities best in the world, that this is a risk I’m not willing to take,” said Miyoshi.

            “I’m sorry,” said Kaminaga quickly.  “I know you’re the best at this.  I know your judgment’s sound.  I’m just . . . tired and in pain.”

            Miyoshi crossed the room and opened a cabinet stocked with rations and preserved beverages.  He selected a can of tea and brought it over to Kaminaga.  “Drink.  Replenish your fluids.  I’ll signal Tazaki.  He can relay the situation to Yuuki-san.  He’ll have a solution.”

            Kaminaga fumbled with the top of the can.  Miyoshi reached across and popped it open for him.  Then disappeared up the stairs on the other side of the room. 

 

            Lt. Colonel Yuuki came through as they knew he would.  Kaminaga was driven to a hospital in Kanagawa that night, a cover story prepared for him.  The surgeon on hand carefully inspected the injury and professed to have the same concerns Miyoshi had had.  He proceeded with the utmost caution and his concerns were proven to be well founded.  From there, it took him forty-seven minutes to remove the bullet, using the thinnest, most precise scalpels available, to detach it from Kaminaga’s artery with minimal tissue loss.  When he was finished, he dropped it into a metal pan (and didn’t notice when Kaminaga filched it as a souvenir).  After that, closing up the wound was routine.  Kaminaga was given orders to stay completely off his feet for a week, to ensure the wall of the artery that had been slightly weakened by the bullet returned to full strength.  But after that he would make a full recovery, and be back to full strength in another three weeks. 

            Fukumoto carried him back into D-Agency when they arrived home, into the lounge where Miyoshi was waiting, a chess board already set up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Some games lost their appeal after awhile.  Mahjong, for example, was much less enjoyable than it used to be, after Jitsui forced another trainee to swallow three tiles, back in the early days.  And other games simply became boring because of repetition.  But chess never lost its appeal.  Perhaps because though the game itself remained the same, they players did not.  Miyoshi and Kaminaga were constantly having to evolve their strategies to stay on equal footing.  They made each other better by constantly trying to tear each other apart.  It was an odd sort of symbiosis.  But it worked for them.

            “Let’s play chess again, on the other side,” Kaminaga said, as they packed up the chess board, after finishing their last game before they were to depart on separate deep cover missions.

            “The other side?” Miyoshi asked dryly.

            Kaminaga nodded.

            “There is no other side, or at least no definitive proof of one,” said Miyoshi.  “If we play again, it will have to be on this side.”

            “How can you say that?  After we swore to die together on the banks of Fuji-kawa –”

            “What has Yuuki-san told you about being over dramatic?” asked Miyoshi.  “Or do you think that simply because you’re going to the birthplace of Shakespearean theater you can get away with it?”

            Kaminaga froze.  Miyoshi wasn’t supposed to know where he was going.  No one was.

            Miyoshi cuffed him lightly upside the head.  “I didn’t know until you just confirmed it.”

            “What was your clue?”

            “The way you froze up.”  Miyoshi gave him a mocking look.

            “The first clue,” Kaminaga elaborated.

            “The first clue wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t given yourself away when pressed,” said Miyoshi.  “You need to work on that.  Or rather, you should already have gotten past that.  It’s going to come down to you and me, you know.”

            He didn’t need to tell Kaminaga just what was going to come down to the two of them.  Kaminaga already knew.  And he also knew, or at least felt, like Miyoshi was the better choice.  Miyoshi wasn’t the best at everything, no matter what he thought.  But he was Yuuki-san’s best student.  He was more like Yuuki-san than Kaminaga.  Not exactly Yuuki’s equal, but closer to being that than Kaminaga believed he’d ever be.  And Kaminaga was alright with that.  He’d never set out to become the leader of all D-Agency.  He wasn’t bowing out of the competition or anything, by any means, but if his ultimate role was simply to up Miyoshi’s game, and help Miyoshi become the best, most cunning, most far-thinking spymaster he could possibly be, Kaminaga would be very satisfied with that role.  After all . . . the rest of these men were the closest thing Kaminaga had to a family.  He wanted Yuuki to choose the very best leader for them to succeed him. 

            “I know,” Kaminaga told Miyoshi.  “But I’d say the one who needs to be careful is you.  I’m not the one who’s going to have a wolf on my tail, my whole mission.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miyoshi said evenly.

            “I bet it just grates on your nerves to have to say that,” said Kaminaga.  “But you’re doing it wrong, you know.  If you really didn’t know what I was talking about, you’d try to bluff and act like you did.”

            Miyoshi’s poker face was good.  Very good.  But Kaminaga knew him, and how his narcissism worked.

            “So I guess I’m not the only one who needs to work on that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            “Please . . .   Please . . .”  Miyoshi heard those words like a mantra, like a prayer, through the cold and dark.  “Please . . . Please . . .”  They were out of context.  And Miyoshi felt like he was out of time.  Not limited on time, but removed from time.  Floating in a dark eternity.  He wasn’t cold so much as numb.  Deprived of all senses.  No sight, no feeling, no taste or smell . . . but there was sound.  Just that one word, over and over.  Until there was more.  A thud.  Then the rattle of metal.  A slight squeak of hinges.  And then . . .  “Ophelia?  My lady, Ophelia?  It’s time to wake up.”

            Miyoshi opened his eyes.  It was hard.  So hard.  Even though he knew what was waiting for him.  Even though his life might depend on it.  Because even though they’d come for him, they would only save him if they knew he was alive.  If they thought he was a corpse, they’d just close up the lid and bury him again.  They wouldn’t risk their lives trying to retrieve a corpse.

            They probably shouldn’t even be risking their lives trying to retrieve someone as close to being a corpse as he currently was.  Miyoshi felt a stab of guilt.  But then his eyes focused on the closest of the two moonlit figures above him.  And his guilt was replaced by soft, warm relief.

            Kaminaga.

            He couldn’t explain why seeing him here now meant so much to him now. 

            Then the guilt returned as Kaminaga bowed his head, and his voice broke on his next words.  “Thank you.”  Something warm and wet fell on Miyoshi’s face.  And rapidly cooled, quickly becoming cold, thanks to the freezing weather.  Tears.  Kaminaga’s, to be exact.  “Thank you.”

            Miyoshi blinked up at him.  There was a lot he wanted to say.  But no words would come.  He couldn’t speak.  Couldn’t sit up.  Couldn’t do anything except stare at the men who were risking everything to save him, and couldn’t help but feel like he was letting them down.

            “Hypothermia,” said Amari.  “In addition to whatever other complications he has from his wounds.  He shouldn’t move on his own.”

            Suddenly Kaminaga was right there in the coffin with Miyoshi, carefully sliding his arms under him.  Lifting him out of his grave.  He cradled Miyoshi’s upper body, being extremely cautious of Miyoshi’s chest wound, while Amari lifted Miyoshi’s legs, helping keep him level.  Miyoshi watched as the stars and moon shifted their orientation, as he was carried through the graveyard, his friends turning down several different paths between the rows of tombstones, until they reached the perimeter.  Miyoshi knew they were there because he heard the sound of a car starting up.  One of the others was there too, he realized.  He heard first one car door open, then another, so that Kaminaga and Amari could get him inside without having to set him down and open it themselves.  Miyoshi tried to see which one it was, but they stayed outside his field of vision.  He only got a glimpse of a short silhouette.  Hatano then, or Jitsui.

            After getting him settled so he was lying on the backseat, Kaminaga started to move away, and Miyoshi felt a surge of panic.  It took all his strength to reach out and clasp Kaminaga’s hand.  And he had the strongest urge to beg him.  “Don’t go.”  He would have begged, but his lips were frozen shut, his tongue thick and useless inside his mouth.

            “Miyoshi . . .” Kaminaga looked at him with tear glazed eyes.  And it struck Miyoshi in the most painful way to realize that Kaminaga was crying for him.  It shouldn’t have meant so much.  Not in the face of Kaminaga’s other actions.  Fast tracking it to Germany and grave robbing for him in the middle of the night should have meant a little more than a few tears.  But Miyoshi’s priorities and thoughts were a mess at the moment, and all he could think was that he needed to find a way to make this up to Kaminaga, because that’s what you did when you made the people you loved cry.

            “You’re safe now,” said Kaminaga, pressing one gloved hand against Miyoshi’s cheek.  “I promise.  We’ll take care of you.  Jitsui’s right up front.  Aren’t you, Jitsui?”

            “I’m here,” Jitsui confirmed. 

            Three of them.  At least.  All working together just to save him, the crippled pawn.  And they weren’t even finished yet, Miyoshi realized.  They had to fill in his grave and erase all signs of ever being there.  And who knew what else.  Miyoshi knew there was more to the plan than just showing up in Germany for a spot of midnight grave robbing.  Bribes, extraction plans, contingency plans, any number of other things . . . He was holding them up now.  For sentiment.  He was endangering them all.

            Miyoshi released Kaminaga as soon as he realized that.  He was better than that.  He had to be.  He tried to give Kaminaga a reassuring look, because Kaminaga still looked so torn and sad.  But he knew his expression didn’t come out looking so good.  There was no way it could have with his face frozen like it was.

            “Kaminaga.  Come on,” said Amari, in a pained voice.  He sounded as conflicted as Kaminaga looked.  But he knew his job.  Just like Kaminaga knew his. 

            Kaminaga gave Miyoshi a nod and stepped back, out of Miyoshi’s view.  Then he heard the door shut softly.  A moment later, something soft fluttered over the back seat, falling across Miyoshi’s body.  A blanket.  One that was warm to the touch, like someone had just been using it.  That’s right.  Jitsui got cold easily.  He would have been given one of the easier tasks, if they were making him work in the cold.  And they would have bundled him up.  But he’d just given up his own warmth to Miyoshi.

            “The heat’s on all the way,” Jitsui said in his usual gentle voice, as the car began moving.  “You should start feeling it soon.  I’m getting you somewhere safe.  I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to tell you more than that.  But please believe that we have prepared very well for this.  You’re going to be alright.”

            Miyoshi knew that already.  By this stage of the game, that was pretty much a foregone conclusion.  Miyoshi didn’t go around joining groups of slouches.  He only considered the best of the best worthy to be his peers. 

            But . . .

            He still couldn’t . . . couldn’t deny just how touched he was . . . that they came for him.  Saved him.

            Miyoshi was ready to go home.

 

* * *

 

 

            Getting around war-torn Europe wasn’t easy even in non-emergency situations.  Yuuki had pulled quite a few strings to get them on a plane there.  Even more to get himself, Miyoshi, and Hatano on a plane back to Japan.  The others had been given their own exit strategies.  Split into pairs, or small groups, maybe one or two even going solo.  They made their own ways back to Japan.  Kaminaga sure took his time.  Under the guise of a photographer, as Amari posed as a journalist, they did what was expected of their cover roles, even though it added days, perhaps a week or more, to their return trip home.

            Then Miyoshi had to endure the long, drawn out hugs of D-Agency’s self-appointed big brothers, which went on so long that Miyoshi deemed it had gone past what was socially acceptable, which made it socially acceptable for him to relieve his boredom by reading a book while they continued trying to hug it out with him.

            Recovery had begun before they returned home.  Dozens of antibiotic shots and tinctures, his wounds cleaned and stitched up, his bandages changed daily.  Sponge baths, administered by Hatano, much to Miyoshi’s initial horror, though Hatano was surprisingly . . . grown up about the whole matter, and never complained, or made any teasing comments.  He’d been through his own hardships, Miyoshi began to realize, especially when he noticed Yuuki-san looking at Hatano, at times, with the same concern in his eyes that was constantly in his eyes whenever he looked at Miyoshi. 

            The rest of their group trickled back in, the procession concluded with Kaminaga and Amari, and then it was like . . . relief.  Like all was finally right in the world.  The tension and worry that one of them might not make it melted away.  And life settled into its new normal. 

            The war was changing the scape of espionage, world-wide.  New roles for several of them were in the works, but Miyoshi knew it would take some time to prepare them, and make sure their covers would stick.  And that time . . . that time became some of the best time of Miyoshi’s life.  Pitch black solitude might await some of them after they left the agency.  But when they were at home, together, it felt like the darkness had no hold.  For a little while, again, they got to be a family.

            And Miyoshi’s and Kaminaga’s chess battles resumed.  They were a nice way to help pass the time as Miyoshi recovered.  Before he was allowed to move about and begin reconditioning.  At least he could keep his mind sharp.  And Yuuki actually stepped in to help both his boys up their game with that.

            One day they came down to the lounge to discover their usual chess board gone, replaced with an all white chess set.  Every square and every piece the same pale shade of ivory.  Kaminaga and Miyoshi looked at it, then at each other, a bit confused.

            “You’ve both been getting complacent,” came their answer from the doorway, and they turned around to see Yuuki standing there.  “And complacency leads to stagnation.”

            “So you added another element of challenge to the game,” Miyoshi said, his eyes lighting at the prospect of the game’s difficulty being raised.  Not only would they now have to plan just as carefully as before, but they’d have to remember who each piece belonged to with no coloration to make it immediately clear.  The tiles of the board would provide little help with that, if they forgot.  With them all being the same color, it would become that much harder to figure out what moves had previously been made by each piece, and which side it started out on.

            This was a game that would require not just strategy, but excellent memorization, and no small amount of trust in their opponent.

            Kaminaga grinned and pulled out a chair for Miyoshi, before taking his own seat.  “Looks like fun.”

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: This fic was inspired by Tivanny’s Joker Game fan art “Play It By Trust” which can be seen at this link: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/152199083421>  Hopefully I did her pic justice. :P

 

 


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